


Sight Unseen

by Mirabai0821



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Misogyny, Racism, misognoir, now with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirabai0821/pseuds/Mirabai0821
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She batted his hand away, like an older sister shooing him from the spice cookies before they’ve cooled. He released the sheet, clutching his hand dramatically as though she actually wounded him. Evelyn smiled, shaking her head at her Commander, that infuriating man that twisted her heart up thicker than her hair.</p><p>“Are you just going to leave the sheet over it?”</p><p>“It’s an event Cullen, not every day a lady gets a painting done by the famous Chretien Lautrec, gifted on behalf of Lord Jean-Baptise La Croix.”</p><p>**</p><p>I got a bitchin’ prompt, it begged to be written:</p><p> “Write your Inquisitor’s reaction to the tarot card for their race and gender as if it was a commissioned portrait painted by someone who’d never seen them before.“</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zombrigit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombrigit/gifts).



She batted his hand away, like an older sister shooing him from the spice cookies before they’ve cooled. He released the sheet, clutching his hand dramatically as though she actually wounded him. Evelyn smiled, shaking her head at her Commander, that infuriating man that twisted her heart up thicker than her hair. **  
**

“Are you just going to leave the sheet over it?”

“It’s an event Cullen, not every day a lady gets a painting done by the famous Chretien Lautrec, gifted on behalf of Lord Jean-Baptise La Croix.” She beamed making her look girlish and sweet in her enthusiasm. Ser Lautrec was the Empress’s favorite portraitist, considered by most to be the best artist in several ages. His favor was not curried easily or cheaply, this Lord La Croix had a hefty amount of coin to throw around.

Cullen sniffed, _blood Orlesians_. “They’re too presumptuous.” He muttered, glaring at the covered portrait with undisguised jealousy, knowing he’d never have that kind of coin to spend on her even though he knew she wasn’t the type whose affection could be bought.

“Oh? What do you mean?” She asked him, earnestly searching his face for an answer.

“I…uh…well, I mean.” He stuttered through his response, something about wasting coin better served for resources or some other weak excuse. In truth, had he the coin for it, he’d buy her the moon–both of them–nothing less than she deserved.

“Are you jealous Ser Rutherford?”

The crimson flush hidden by his mantle threatened to overtake his face. His feelings for her were still kept very close to his heart, but her arrows always seemed to know where to strike.

“Well…that is…I’m…”

“Upset some noble hasn’t spent a fortune on a portrait of you?” She quirked her head, studying him a bit, visualizing what he’d look like on canvas. Strong jaw, eyes forward, blazing in sunlight, his sword held high. Or… maybe something tender, affectionate, a portrait of him in a lover’s embrace, looking upon his beloved with a softness reserved for only her. “I am a bann’s daughter.” She mused aloud, weighing the cost of such a gesture against his worth and finding herself well within budget. She curled the corner of her mouth in a grin that set his heart to fits.

“Well? Are you going to keep us in suspense?” Leliana arrived in the war room bringing the rest of the inquisition with her, just as excited as Evelyn was to see a painting done by Master Lautrec.

“Oh you must read the note from La Croix darling!” Vivienne implored, casting a mischievous glance first at Dorian, who returned it in kind, before both mages turned to the sullen and pouty looking commander. “It’s quite charming!”

Evelyn giggled, nose wrinkling as prickly heat warmed her cheeks. “I shouldn’t. It’s personal.”

 _No she shouldn’t_ , Cullen thought. He didn’t want to hear the love poems of some puffed up pastry lord.

“Is it a love letter?” Cassandra asked, nudging closer to get a better look at the rolled parchment in Evelyn’s hands, uncaring that she pushed Cullen aside to grasp at it. “Let me see, please?”

Giggling again at her friend, she held the note close to her chest, mirth lighting up her face and eyes and smile, overcoming Cullen’s jealousy. If such things made her happy well…

Deft rogue like fingers, better suited to snatching purses and cranking crossbows plucked the coveted love letter out of the women’s grasp.

Varric unfurled it, winking at the Seeker and the Inquisitor before reading.

“To my beloved, Oh! _My beloved,_ awful familiar isn’t he?”

Evelyn hid another adorable giggle in her hand, whispering to Cassandra.

She gasped. “You’ve never met him?”

She shook her head and the Seeker sighed happily, living the romance vicariously through her friend.

“I, like all of Thedas, am enraptured by you. Held in starstruck awe of your achievements and blah blah blah…”

“No Varrric! You have to read the whole thing!” Cassandra pouted.

The storyteller ignored her and did as storytellers do– he got to the good parts.

“You sweet lady are the very vision of beauty–to which all others pretend poorly. You the living embodiment of grace and strength, what the Maker envisioned when He breathed the words. You fell your enemies with your power, fell men with your charm. You are virtue given flesh, sent directly from the Maker’s heavenly forge untouched and unspoiled. Pure and holy and beautiful. Blessed by his Holy Bride.

“I spoke with Master Lautrec of you, and the man, so moved, drew this. The portrait captures all I have said, everything you are. I keep a miniature on my person, on a chain around the neck so that I may carry you close to my heart.”

Varric had to stop, waiting for Sera and Bull’s snorts to die down and for the women; Ruffles, Seeker, Viney, and Sister, to stop swooning.

Cullen squirmed in his boots, equal parts incensed and ashamed that someone else was wooing his heart’s desire, expressing everything he thought but hadn’t the courage to say. 

“I send it to you, my dear lady, to commend myself as ever your humble servant.

Lord blah blah somesuch. Well, after all that, I gotta see this thing. Let ‘er rip, Viney.”

The women giggled again, pushing Evelyn forward towards painting and the sheet that concealed it. Mischief aside, all were curious to see what the Inquisitor looked like rendered by such expert hands under such glowing praise. Even Solas leaned closer, eager to see what kind of skill this so called master had.

Cullen leaned closer too, though not for any art, hoping to be the first to catch her smile, to see it widen and brighten on her face. It would mean more if he were the one who put it there, but he could be content with these smaller indulgences.

Evelyn, endlessly charmed and flattered ripped away the sheet.

And it came off like a bandage stuck to an injury, pulling free scabbed skin, making the wound bleed fresh.

The woman was beautiful. Unutterably so. She stood tall and proud wielding Andraste’s banner, so real she looked ready to march forward, up and out of the painting–living flesh inscribed in canvas waiting for the opportunity to move.

She was the embodiment of feminine grace and charm. The living testament of earthly beauty and virtue.

But she looked nothing like her namesake.  

Pale skin, unmarred by sun or scar.

Long silken locks of fired copper, straight and fine.

Green shimmering emeralds in her eyes, priceless and precious gems.

Fine and delicate features, from her thin nose to her perfect lips, not thin but not too thick either.

Even the hands that descended from the sky with a golden circlet to bestow upon the lady’s brow were pale and pretty and delicate.

He watched the smile slide off her face, drained away like blood flowing from a mortal wound. For exactly one minute the war room fell silent, each person trying and failing to find what to say.

Until Sera laughed.

“All a them butterfly words,” She wheezed slapping her knee, doubled over by the sheer hilarity. “And the picture come out looking nothing” She stopped, wiping away her tears noticing no one else laughed. “Wasamatta, gotta explain the–?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Sera’s ears drooped as her shoulder’s slumped realizing too late that some jokes just weren’t funny. Like the ones about dead puppies and starving bellies. Like the ones about the elves in the Alienage, or the one about Madame Prissy Pants in the dark…“Quizzy, does that mean… that you ain’t supposed…”

“Cullen.” Evelyn let go of the sheet, the fabric fluttering to the floor with a soft wispy sigh. She watched the air bubbles flatten, an excuse to divert her eyes from the painting.

Her vines swung loose today, free of ponytail or spider-bun, kinked and coiled and knotted nothing anyone would ever mistake for silk. They hung like a curtain, concealing her face from them.

“Yes my lady.” _Name it._ He thought. Whatever wage she named he’d pay, even if it meant taking a trip to Val Royeaux to string up the painter by his teeth.

“Your sword, please.”

He unsheathed his weapon and handed it to her, willing to kneel and offer it like true knight. He said nothing when the weight of the iron jerked her arm, the tip thudding into the stone floor.

Leliana screamed something but it was drowned out by a short and powerful bellow of rage. Evelyn sliced the painting with a wild strike, hands used to bows and not blades. She wielded it with two hands, whole body heaving with every slash, chopping and slicing and cutting until everything was in ribbons and splinters–even the easel was sundered.

Done, she handed the sword back to Cullen, with a terse word of gratitude before leaving the room.

Leliana whimpered. “That was a Lautrec –inaccuracies or no it was worth thrice its weight in gold!”

“And it was garbage.” Cullen growled, nearly spitting his words. “Ruined long before she set a blade against it.”

The room, most still unable to offer comment or commentary, emptied leaving Josephine to inspect the damage with Madame de Fer.

“What should I say in the thank you note?”

Vivienne answered with a dry laugh sparking flame with her fingers igniting ruined portrait. “Send both men the ashes with our regards.”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

He took a moment to remove his armor and summon his courage for the encounter to come, journeying to her door, passing a flustered looking Blackwall along the way. **  
**

He found her sitting on a settee in her chambers an open bottle of wine between her knees and no glass.

She did not dismiss him, nor did she acknowledge or welcome his presence.

“My lady. May I… I wanted to say…”

Her hair concealed her face again, expression obscured by her thick dark brown locks. She lifted her head, eyes no jewels but precious just the same–made of amber glass, summer stone, and  righteous fury.

“If you’ve come to try and convince me that I am those things the painting said I cannot be.” She called forth her Marcher’s tone, not as haughty as Orlesian but far more formal than the twangs that flavored a Kirkwaller’s speech. She spoke two codes, switched at her leisure–pampered princess and vulgar huntress, but this was neither.

“If you’ve come to save my self esteem, prop back up my ego…” she took a swallow from her wine bottle, but did not slur. She was not drunk, the alcohol not yet taking hold. She was stone cold sober, and just stone cold

“If you’ve come like Blackwall did to tell me you don’t see my color, to kiss away what you think are my hurts. If you’ve come for a _pity fuck_ then allow me to disappoint you, Commander.” He realized too late he knew this voice, this code was her rawest, purest heart. “Them blades is old and long since dull. They ain’t cut no more!”

Another swallow, her wine red and dark and bitter.  “I don’t need you or anyone else to convince me of what I am. I know it! Even if _they_ don’t!”

She stared him down, waiting, but where Blackwall flinched and excused himself, muttering apologies, Cullen stepped forward.

“I know.” He replied, answering her raw honesty with his own. “I know what you are. Not as much as my heart would like, but I know. And I know that you know what you are too.”

He stepped yet closer, on the fringes of her space but not quite brave or foolish enough to invade it. “And that, Evelyn Trevelyan is what is beautiful to me.”

“You came to tell me that?” She seemed dubious, wary still.

He shook his head. “I came to check on you, to see if you were okay. Old and dull blades can still hurt.”

“Aye.” She scooted, freeing space for him, he sat next to her. “Oh…would you like some wine. I can get you a–.”

He took her bottle and drank from it, wiping away the thin bead of liquid that escaped him. “No need.”

They shared that bottle like soldiers, passing it back and forth between them, trading stories with every pass.

“He tried to kiss you?”

“Mmhmm, after telling me he didn’t see my skin.”

“Is that so bad? I’m not sure I understand, one would think that’s preferable.”

She shook her head. “For all the lofty, high minded sentiment, it’s stupid. You literally cannot see me and not see my skin, to do such would be to forget or ignore what my skin means to me–for good or ill.”

Cullen nodded, head sloshing too hard up and down, the wine was fortified, stronger than the average. He felt it swimming in him, singing to him, but he tamped down on the song–the exhortations to kiss her. “I understand.”

“No. You don’t.” She chided, taking the bottle back from him. “But you’re listening, and that’s more than what most do.”

The singing returned, louder this time, he shouted his next response, talking over the wine fueled melodies.

“What did you think of the painting?” He blurted, tongue tripping over the first thought that wasn’t about kissing her.

“Oh it’s beautiful.” Evely giggled, leaning closer to man. “But I’m a little upset Master Lautrec didn’t realize that I’m not….that tall.”

Cullen laughed,  the sound of it warming the cold spaces still left in her chest. “Would you ever want a painting from him? One done right?”

“No. A useless gesture, the coin for such an endeavor is better spent on resources. Why? Thinking of having something commissioned for me?” She grinned again, teasing him gently.

“I would, if I thought there was anyone alive who could do you justice.”

She was close, and warm, and quiet when she whispered next. “Why did you come here Cullen? Tell me truly.”

“I did already. That was the truth.”

“You came here to kiss me too didn’t you?”

“Well…ahh…I came to tell you how I felt. And uhh maybe to…Maker’s breath..maybe kiss you too.”

“And why haven’t you?”

“I needed to listen first.”

Evelyn stopped talking, hoping her permission was plain. She shivered when he leaned closer, her eyes fluttering closed, black lashes falling against deep brown skin the color of clay just before the kiln.

He reached for her, for one of her hands, threading them together while his other took gentle hold of her chin. 

She gasped when he tilted her head down and not up, bringing his lips to her temple, kissing the meridian between scalp and skin. He kissed her there again, with just as much reverence as though he were kissing her mouth. He let her go when she pulled back from him, question writ plain on her face.

“Maker willing,” He answered. “I’ll have more opportunities to kiss you more conventionally, I mean to make my first memorable.”

“You speak as though I’d forget a kiss from you.”

“Then let me press upon you the memory anyway. Just to be sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We kinda drag Blackwall. We are sorry.
> 
> Also the art for this fic was commissioned by the wonderful @art-by-g on tumblr. Please visit her at http://art-by-g.tumblr.com/  
> I love it. Its amazing!
> 
> AND IT GETS BETTER!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Art and Content Ahead

He pressed upon her memory with another kiss, one soft touch of lip to lip. Her hands moved against him, boldly reaching, fingertips touching, landing on the rough stubble of his cheek before coming to rest. **  
**

She pressed him closer, parting her lips to curl a daring tongue against his scarred lip. His better senses fled him, allowing a soft contented moan escape. As she held him, deepening her sweet assault on his mouth, he reached for her, hands brushing against the tight wound curls at the back of her neck.

Stilled in each other’s grasp they kissed, slowly, fitted together, their spaces filled whole.

He heard his name, something spoken softly, prayerful. He drew his mouth across her’s until that prayer became a moan, became short shuddering gasps of rapture, became silence,. He kissed her soundly until she was soundness.

He pulled away from her, just as flushed and breathless as she was. He needed to ask, he had to ask, the questioned burned his lips, half-formed and half-remembered. She stole it from him, grasping his face with both hands to press their lips together again. Cullen grabbed her, his arms encircling her waist as they tumbled back onto the chaise. Her fingers fanned across his cheek before curling in his hair.

Slanted together thus, they lost the time, knowing only tongue and teeth and lip and moan and growl. She fed him his name, whispered against his lips as she rolled under him, endeavoring to bring their bodies as close as clothing would allow.

Which, she decided, was not close enough.

Questing hands ventured under the hem of his tunic, her nails scoring light scratches in his skin, asking not taking. He answered in kind, hands settling on her hips before rising higher dragging the hem of her own shirt with it.

“Is this?” He panted between his kisses. “Is this what you want?”

“You are what I want.”

He longed for those words, desperate to pull them from her tongue, desirous of them for so long. Even if this was just a fleeting comfort, to have her at all, was a blessing unlooked for.

And if this was more, if she desired more than simple comfort, Maker take him well and true for the joy might kill him dead.

“Cullen?” He grew quiet and alarm prickled in her chest. Had she said too much, asked for too much?

She spoke truth, she wanted him and more than for the hour or the night, she wanted him for lifetimes. His eyes refocused on her when she called his name again, softly, a timid whisper in her slowly darkening chamber, lit candles doing little more than throwing flickering shadows across their faces. He looked haunted in the growing darkness and she remembered his Kirkwall lover, his Circle lover too, maybe his heart was still not free to be taken.

“I….I meant what I said Cullen.” The kiss she gave him after that was softer, sweeter, a chaste thing that weakened his knees with its tenderness. “But  I understand if you…if you can’t.”

He answered with a shaken head, a vehement denial. He can, oh he can, he can and he _would_.

They lost more time, dissolved in crushed lips and soft moaning. Displaced in discarded fabrics and inhibitions. Forfeited in fingers and giggles. Surrendered in sighs and smiles and _oh…_

“I love you.” His mouth faltered against hers, wandering in the haze of his emotion, uprooting feelings he buried when he uprooted her from Frostback snow. He hoped against all reason that a roll of his hips against her body would ablate the slip of the tongue, but part of the reason for his admiration–for his love– was that she was smart and perceptive. Nothing missed those whiskey eyes, just as intoxicating as the liquor, ears as keen as the mabari she so fondly recalled.

She bucked against him, body responding before her mind could quiet the roiling lust that threatened to burn her to cinders.

“Cullen,” She breathed, ankles locked behind him, urging him deeper inside of her. “Say that again. _Please_.”

He obliged, could do nothing but. He obliged her as his body fit himself full within her, their hands twined and knit together, woven on the Maker’s Loom. He smiled against her smile, the two of them happy, the happiest they’d been in decades, _ages_ even.

“I love you Evelyn.” He sighed, still smiling. “And I have, ever since I laid eyes on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again thanks to @art-by-g at http://art-by-g.tumblr.com/ for her wonderful beautiful amazing work of my problematic children.


End file.
